


Sleeping Wolves Don't Lie

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Marauders' Era, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: School Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-29
Updated: 2006-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Remus and Sirius didn't even have to think about why they kept at it.





	Sleeping Wolves Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: I'm not sure this _really_ counts as hurt/comfort, but I'm including that to be safe. Remus is a little banged up from the full moon, is all.  
  
Written for the birthday of the marvelous Copper_Beech, for her birthday in 2006. It's a good job she has a birthday every year, because I'd hate to go longer than that without writing Remus/Sirius. Also inspired by [Kaalee's French Kiss Challenge](http://kaalee.livejournal.com/196653.html), although it wasn't an official entrant.  


* * *

  
Padfoot smelled blood in the house and cringed. Among all the interesting scents of rats and pigeons which made his soft, damp nose twitch, and the dry, flat smell of dust and the nagging traces of long-since-dried blood, there was the sharp tang of new wounds. He climbed the splintery stairs, ignoring the jabs of old wood and nails which always failed to pierce his calloused paws. The jabs were of no consequence.  
  
The smell was stronger in the room upstairs.  
  
The Wolf slept on a shredded, bloodstained mattress. Its breathing came slowly, deeply; it was the breathing of an animal exhausted from hours of strife. Its fur was matted in places, and in those places the metallic tang was strongest. Padfoot whinged softly, on instinct, and approached the Wolf slowly.  
  
The Wolf was precious to him, and it was hurt. The Wolf was also dangerous if it woke again in the next few minutes, before dawn broke over the house and the Wolf turned safe.  
  
The earthy, musky scent of sleeping Wolf made Padfoot's hackles stand up. The Wolf scared him, both despite and because of his rational thoughts about it; right now, though, it needed his help.  
  
Head hung low, Padfoot moved forward slowly, watching for any change in the Wolf's breathing. The skin on his underbelly twitched with the memory of the time the Wolf woke suddenly and surprised him. His muscles tensed, ready for any change in the Wolf's breathing.  
  
The Wolf continued to sleep. It was bleeding in three places.  
  
With another low whinge, Padfoot reached the Wolf's sleeping body, and gave the shallow scratch on its haunch a gentle lick. The blood tasted sour and bitter, but the wound looked cleaner. The Wolf let out a bit of a sigh and twitched its leg. Drawing back sharply, Padfoot waited until the Wolf's breathing evened out again, then went to work on a deep gash along its side.  
  
Padfoot hated the taste of the Wolf's blood, the bitter-sour wrongness so alien in contrast with the sweetness of the heart that circulated it. The licking helped, though, that much was clearly visible. Padfoot alone was in charge of helping the Wolf tonight, so he kept working until the wound was clean and the fur around it was smoothed away from the broken skin. He moved on to the bleeding place along the Wolf's snout.  
  
A red-gold ray of light filtered through the dusty, ragged window coverings, and soon the fur was not only smoothing away from the wound, but receding altogether. The snout was shortening and the hair all over the Wolf's body was melting away. As though in involuntary response, Padfoot's canine form morphed smoothly into a human body. Several long seconds passed before either Remus or Sirius twigged to the fact that Sirius was still slowly, gently licking the fresh scrape at the left side of Remus's nose.  
  
There might have been a moment of awkwardness, a need for rationalization or discussion, but in that red-gold instant, Remus's face moved beneath Sirius's mouth, and roughly unshaven cheek was replaced with smooth, moist tongue. There might have been cause for consideration, a time for negotiation or explanation, but Remus's mouth was sweet and warm, and it fit Sirius's own so perfectly that there was really nothing to do but to continue.  
  
Although Remus was nearly motionless with exhaustion, any suggestion of hesitancy was belied by the strength of his hands where they threaded into Sirius's hair, almost painful in their grip. Sirius set his lower lip against Remus's, teasing his tongue against the other once, twice, a touch, a stroke, lightly, lingering, meeting, separating, repeating. Remus's mouth reached up to meet his, and Sirius breathed him in, the sour-bitter scent of Wolf mingled with the earthy richness of night and the musky warmth of man.  
  
Sirius ran his tongue against Remus's again, surrounding both with their lips, pressing, stroking, drawing away, no, come back, closer again, slipping one against the other, then apart, no, together, yes, more, breath, tongue, lips, _ouch!_ teeth, then yes, teasing, tantalising, more, yes, you, me, yes. A chuckle welled up softly from the deepest reaches of Remus's chest, where the sweetness grew, and Sirius breathed it in, lowering his weight to his elbows so his fingertips could be free to stroke the last vestiges of worry from Remus's forehead.  
  
Remus's soft-sweet tongue slipped lightly along the outside edge of Sirius's lower lip, then teeth captured that same lip, tugging gently before releasing and returning for more. Sirius responded in kind, eliciting a sigh and another chuckle from that heart-deep place whence the first had emerged.  
  
Sprawled half-sideways on top of Remus, avoiding the injured leg and side, Sirius marveled at how well their bodies fit one on top of the other. Their lips still melded, Remus bent his mouth into an awkward but joyous smile, and Sirius took the cue to follow suit. As sunbeam after sunbeam joined the first that had snuck through the window of the Shack, Sirius lay lightly on top of Remus, kissing and exciting and soothing him. His body still nearly motionless with exhaustion, Remus's hands stayed tight in Sirius's hair, never giving the slightest indication of letting go, ever.  
  
Well. That's the way it went that first time, at least. Over the months, there wasn't much change. Usually, James and Peter accompanied them through the long nights of the full moon, but they learned to stay downstairs when dawn approached and Sirius climbed the stairs to check on Remus.  
  
They understood, of course, so they always let Sirius go upstairs alone.  
  
Sirius and Remus became lovers eventually, of course, but their favourite time was still always the moment after Remus changed back, when they could lie together in their exhaustion and kiss and kiss and touch and kiss for as long as they dared stretch the time. It was never much, but it was always enough to make Remus's transformations just a little more bearable, knowing what was waiting for him at the end. That was Remus's reason for preferring that time to any other: that relief of finding Sirius there caring for him as he returned to himself.  
  
And Sirius? Well, his reasons were pretty much the same.  



End file.
